Somewhere
by onceuponamirror
Summary: Sent once again to search for an (annoyingly) elusive pair of ruby slippers, one portal jumper instead somehow finds himself on a quest with their owner and her talking little dog too (neither of whom seem willing to shut up) to seek a wizard and possibly free a kingdom from the clutches of a corrupt witch. Follow the yellow brick road, they said... Mad Slippers, a Jefferson AU.
1. the golden key

_"Once in the wintertime when the snow was very deep, a poor boy had to go out and fetch wood on a sled. After he had gathered it together and loaded it, he did not want to go straight home, because he was so frozen, but instead to make a fire and warm himself a little first._

_So he scraped the snow away, and while he was thus clearing the ground he found a small golden key. Now he believed that where there was a key, there must also be a lock, so he dug in the ground and found a little iron chest._

_"If only the key fits!" he thought. "Certainly there are valuable things in the chest."_

_He looked, but there was no keyhole. Finally he found one, but so small that it could scarcely be seen._

_He tried the key, and fortunately it fitted. Then he turned it once, and now we must wait until he has finished unlocking it and has opened the lid._

_Then we shall find out what kind of wonderful things there were in the little chest."_

**-The Golden Key, Grimm's Fairytales**

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No sooner had he flipped open the lid, an impish giggle sounded from behind the boy. "I'm quite curious," a high-pitched voice said a moment later. The boy whipped around, clutching the chest tightly, but there was no one there. Again, the voice called from over the boy's shoulder, "What's in the box?"

This time, when the boy turned around, he was met face to face with a man. Only, he wasn't quite a man—his skin was covered in a scaly, golden substance, his teeth were jagged and yellowed, his eyes huge and bulging. He sat crouching in the snow in an oddly child-like position, regarding the boy with a smug grin.

The boy had hardly had time to look for himself, in fact. At the same time, both the man and the boy glanced down into the chest. "It's a hat," the boy murmured in a disappointed voice, gingerly placing the box down as he pulled the object from it, a dark, shapely top hat.

"Not just any hat, sonny boy," the man laughed, pointing a spindly finger into the air. "That there is a _magic_ hat."

The boy turned the hat over in his hands, inspecting it. "Magic?" His brown eyes darted from the hat to the man, narrowing suspiciously.

"Oh yes," the man announced giddily, hopping up into a standing position.

"How does it work?" The boy asked, following in suit. With his forefinger and thumb, he held the hat by its brim, looking at it as if searching for a set of instructions.

This seemed to be exactly what the man wanted to hear, a wicked grin breaking across his features. "I'll be happy to show you—for a price."

Though the boy was no fool, and could sense that this man should be trusted as far as he could be thrown, his curiosity was far too piqued to walk away. He didn't say anything, but merely drew the hat into his arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting for the man to continue.

"I'll teach you how to work that magical hat of yours, and one day…you'll run a few errands for me."

It seemed too easy. "That's it?"

The man let out another shrill giggle. "That's it."

The boy considered his options. He could probably try to work the hat out for himself, but what if it needed a spell uttered? He could spend a lifetime mumbling abracadabras with no avail. Plus, he'd always dreamed of adventure, of a life beyond his parents' cottage—and he wouldn't get there by playing it safe. "Deal," he said finally, holding his hand out to shake.

His smile stretching, the man held out his own and they shook on it. "I believe introductions are in order, then," he said breezily, dipping into a bow. "Rumplestiltskin at your service."

The boy smirked, amused by the man despite himself. "Jefferson," he said, "my name is Jefferson."

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**I was rereading the Grimm's fairytales today and I happened upon the story of The Golden Key (yes it really is that short) and...something about it just hit me with Jefferson inspiration. I love Jefferson, but I have a hard time writing him, even though I have the greatest (IMO) headcanon for him, and who his wife/Grace's mother is. **

**Rather than explain it in full detail (though many of you probably already know it if you follow me on tumblr or i guess read the summary of this story) I figured I'd write it out in a short fic form. I'm thinking maybe 10 chapters? That's a lot for me, and I get easily daunted by multi-chapter writing, but I'm trying. **

**I'm studying in Ireland for the month and quite busy, but I plan to work on this diligently in my free time. So I may be slow to update, but hopefully you'll stick with me! Reviews encourage a faster update! *wink wink*  
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	2. eggbeater

Ten years later, Jefferson wakes to a sharp jabbing in his side. He snorts, shooting upwards, incoherent curses falling from his lips. His eyes focus in on his surroundings—he is still in the same pub he'd wandered into a few hours previous, only now it was noticeably thinned out.

"Last call," murmurs the gruff voice of the already retreating bartender.

Slowly, Jefferson rises from his chair, uncurling his back into a long stretch. He smiles to himself as it cracks loudly. Scooping up his empty beer mug, he makes his way back to the bar, preparing to pay off his tab and head back to his inn for the evening. Wordlessly, he signals the barkeep over, digging a silver coin and a few spare coppers from his inside pocket.

The creak of a stool at his side tells him he is not alone. Jefferson swings his neck around, a crooked smile blooming on his face as he recognizes his present company. The size of a young child, the White Rabbit struggles to climb atop his seat, looking comically out of place in his bright sport coat and brocade vest.

"Whitey!" Jefferson smiles, gripping the rabbit by his shoulders and settling him on the seat, a gesture which he doesn't necessarily seem to appreciate.

The rabbit shoots Jefferson a sour look before turning back to his own drink. "I am not impotent, Hatter," he snips, ostensibly offended.

"Small but mighty, I get it," Jefferson returns, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "No good deed goes unpunished, right?"

"No matter," the rabbit says finally, waving a dismissive paw and taking another sip of his drink as he wavers slightly on his stool. Jefferson, having sobered up from his recent, er, nap, eyes the rabbit carefully. He's clearly drunk and to be honest, Jefferson didn't even know rabbits _could_ get drunk—then again, this is a magical, portal-making rabbit, so perhaps anything goes.

He's got better things to do than entertain a boozy bunny—in fact, given the meeting he has tomorrow on the other side the forest _and_ up it's mountain pass, he'd better retire soon and rest up for the trek. He makes his move to leave, only to be seized on the arm by a fluffy white paw.

"Stay," the White Rabbit urges, a hesitant smile budding under his whiskers. "I like you, Hatter. I'll buy your last pint." Maybe it's the lonely look in his beady little eyes, but Jefferson finds himself faltering. "I've got a friend coming to meet me. Just stay until they arrive."

He's suspicious, of course, but his curiosity is a far stronger emotion. It always is, and it always seems to get him into trouble. (But then again, he likes the trouble, if he's being honest with himself.) Plus, now he's wondering what kind of person meets a talking, realm-hopping rabbit after dark in a lowly lit pub. He might as well see this through. So, sighing heavily, Jefferson deflates back into his seat as the rabbit signals for the bartender.

The rabbit relaxes, but his expression quickly turns to one of sweeping exhaustion. A smirk curls onto the Hatter's face, which he hides in his newly filled mug. "Rough day?"

"Don't even get me started," the rabbit says in one breath, but eagerly, like he's been waiting to be asked, "there's this horrible little girl who has been wreaking havoc all over Wonderland. Whining about her father, this, that—_oh_, it's driving me _mad_!"

"Going mad in Wonderland. Wow," Jefferson deadpans, but the sarcasm is lost on his short friend.

The White Rabbit sloshes his drink around, waving it dangerously close to the hatter's face. "I _had_ to get away for a bit. There's nothing like an Enchanted Forest holiday, always so peaceful here. Say, did you hear there is a new queen? Shame about the old one, of course, but…" He trails off suddenly, and distantly, the sound of a creaking door fills the back of the pub.

All the while, Jefferson is only paying half attention, nodding politely and rolling his eyes to himself again, wondering why it was he thought it would be worthwhile to stick around. Judging by the amount of which the rabbit is slurring, he'll be passed before he finishes his drink.

"So very late," the rabbit muses to himself, turning his head over his shoulder at something—or rather, someone, behind them. Sighing to himself, the White Rabbit raises a paw into the air, beckoning the person over. As if they weren't the only ones left in the bar anyway. Slowly, Jefferson swivels in his seat to get a good look at the dodgy fellow meeting a rabbit for drinks at closing.

At first, all Jefferson sees is red.

Sparkling, brilliantly flashing, luminous, and_ red_.

His eyes are drawn downwards to the source of the color, first to legs that can only be female, and farther down to her feet, where she sports a pair of ruby red slippers. They're surprisingly plain in design: a simple, practical shoe with a short heel. Were they not causing temporary blindness the longer Jefferson stared at them, he'd find the shape of them rather unassuming.

His eyes stay focused on the wearer's feet as she approaches the bar, until she has stopped just in front of him.

"You're late," the rabbit says huffily.

"Isn't everyone for you?" she says, in an amused, airy voice. She turns to Jefferson. "You must be the Hatter." His gaze trails up her form, hidden under a light blue gingham cloak, before meeting her gaze. Her lips, curled into a small, studying smile, are as red as her shoes.

He can't help himself. Puffing up inadvertently, a bright smirk crosses his features. "Jefferson's the name," he says, eying her in a way that she assumes has worked for him in the past.

She tucks a strand of light hair behind her ear—in this light, it too almost gleams red, or maybe strawberry. "You can call me Dee," she says finally, sweeping her dark eyes over to the rabbit. "_This_ is the Hatter?" She adds in an unimpressed voice.

Jefferson's elbow, which had been propping him against the bar, slips. His eyes narrow. Clearly, this was planned. After a moment to compose himself, Jefferson swivels his stool to the rabbit, who has suddenly found the bottom of his glass very interesting.

"Well it was great catching up, Hatt—ack!" Jefferson snags the White Rabbit by the collar just as he attempts to weasel off his stool. Rather than attack, he holds the squirming rabbit there, turning to Dee with a mirthless smile.

"I have a _feeling_," Jefferson says, waving his free hand in the air glibly, "there's something I'm missing."

"Let him go," Dee says lightly, slipping onto the stool next to the rabbit. Her fingers are small and nimble, lacing themselves over the bar counter. "I just want to talk." Jefferson exhales noisily before releasing the rabbit, who doesn't get a chance to move before Dee adds, "Whitey, you stay. I have something I need to talk to you about afterwards." Dejectedly, the rabbit turns back to the bar, gulping down the last of his drink.

"You _are_ bossy," Jefferson grins, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"And you're awfully presumptuous," Dee replies without skipping a beat. He notices a slow drawl in her accent that he's never heard the likes of before—and he's heard _many_ on his travels. "Anyway, I'm here on business. Word is that you're the man to come to if you've got something…_rare_ to sell."

_Well then_. Jefferson inclines his head over the bar to get a better look at the girl across from him. Well, not quite a girl—young, around his age, average height and build, pin straight blonde hair, flashing amber eyes. A delicate, unassuming face marked by something heavy, something inscrutable behind her red grin.

His smile is wicked. "I'm listening."

Dee's hands slip underneath her checkered cloak, a moment later revealing a small satchel. She dumps it on the counter with a loud clang, the sound of metal rattling against itself.

"Firstly," she beams, her face lighting up as she dramatically flourishes an oblong teal object with a metallic object on the end, "I give you: an eggbeater!"

The rabbit and Jefferson exchange quick glances. The White Rabbit murmurs something that sounds a lot like _here we go_ while Jefferson snorts with suppressed laughter. "Come again?"

"It is what it sounds like. It beats eggs," Dee explains in a dubious voice.

Jefferson is both amused and intrigued, but he isn't about to let her see either of that. He flattens his expression. "Is there something wrong with a fork?"

Dee flashes him a brilliant smile. He can't seem to shake her. "Watch," she laughs, pressing on a small red button on the side of the "eggbeater." It clicks, and suddenly the object whirs to life, the metallic end spinning wildly. Both the rabbit and the hatter leap back, eyes wide.

"Is it magic?" Jefferson asks.

"Oh no, not with this one," the rabbit slurs,

"What?"

"Ignore him," Dee says quickly, clicking the device off. She rifles through her knapsack again, this time pulling out two small black boxes with a long, upright end. "Called walkie-talkies," she explains. "You speak into one, your voice appears on the other."

"Sure," Jefferson says disbelievingly, his eyebrows leveled on his forehead. "And I'm the rabbit."

Dee pins him with an impatient look, but says nothing, instead nimbly hopping off her stool and walking to the pub's front door with one of the walkie-talkie's in hand.

She swivels sharply, raising the object to her lips. From where Jefferson sits, her voice crackles in through the remaining black box in a sharp, "You're too hard on yourself, Hatter. Your ears aren't _that_ big."

By the time she's made her way back to the bar counter, he's managed to compose his face into a neutral expression. She doesn't need to know he was grinning ear to ear at that, as far as he's concerned.

"Alright, you have my attention," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "What are you asking for them?"

Her eyes gleam. "You want them?"

"I have a potential buyer in mind," Jefferson replies evasively.

"I want gold," Dee says quickly—too quickly. Her eagerness would've been suspicious on anyone else, but on her, it reeks of desperation. His gut twists a little at the thought, which surprises him.

Pawning off Dee's strange objects is certainly a gamble—he can't be sure the imp will even want them, he can be so unpredictable, but something about the way she's looking at him now (he refuses to accept it could be called hopeful) has his mind made up.

"Mm," the Hatter murmurs, digging deep into his breast pocket. Finding what he was looking for, he leans across the counter and deposits a small pile of gold string in front of the blonde. "How about that. I happen to have some."

They lock eyes, and a strange feeling passes through Jefferson's chest. He ignores it, and breaks their gaze to stare pointedly down at her feet. "By the way," he says, offering his hand to shake, "nice shoes."

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**so we meet dee! or that's how she's known for now, anyway. i'm chugging along on this fic-it's really personal to me, and i have a lot of twists and turns planned, but obv it's super super AU. but that's what makes it fun, eh? curious about the modern objects? i certainly would be...**

**review for a faster update!**


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